


dirty little secrets

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-30
Updated: 2007-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Everybody has their dirty little secrets. Some just aren't so secret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you,_

_'cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me._

_And near death, last breath, and barely hanging on._

_Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?_

_-The Academy Is...: "Skeptics and True Believers"_

 

Wincing Sam pressed his back to the far wall of the bedroom he shared with his older brother and slowly slid down. Drawing his knees up to his chest he wrapped his arms around his legs and took a few deep breaths.

 

It didn’t hurt when he breathed, that was a good sign. But the rest of him ached and his face stung worse than anything. He’d taken his fair share of beatings on the hunt but this was different. This pain was stronger than any pain a hunt could inflict on him ever.

 

But what made it worse than ever was that Dean wasn’t there with him. Sam was used to Dean coming home after everything went down, but lately he’d been coming home later and later. Tonight was no exception. Though now he wasn’t so sure which he hated more, Dean being gone or the fact that he would be coming home. Probably soon.

 

He hissed in pain as a yawn tore through his battered body. Damn, if he thought he hurt now, he had a hell of a morning to look forward to. None of which could compare to the lecture he was going to get from Dean. Especially if dad ever told him what he’d said, because it was without a doubt the absolute dumbest thing he had ever said.

 

That was if dad was still awake when Dean got home or if he remembered tonight. He had a habit of forgetting the things he didn’t want to remember. Something Sam wished he could do every night.

 

Gritting his teeth he pressed his face into his knees and waited for the familiar footfalls in the hall, the click of the bedroom door and careful, unsure movements so as to not wake him if he was asleep. His eyes were drifting closed when he heard the front door slam shut a little louder than usual.

 

Holding his breath he hoped it was dad leaving and not Dean coming. Then there were footsteps outside the bedroom door, sending the air of hopefulness right out of his lungs. He should be grateful that it wasn’t dad coming back for round two, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to.

 

The door swung open, bright light forcing him to duck his head back down. He’d only caught a glimpse of the figure in the doorway, but he knew it was Dean without question. Could tell in the way he held himself, the slight tilt of his head as he checked things out and the familiar twist of lips.

 

“Whoa, time to tone down the creep factor little bro. What are you doing sitting in the dark? There are much better things to be done in the dark than creeping out your older brother,” Dean joked, flipping the light on. He didn’t know why he was making jokes. It just felt like something he had to do. Something he always felt he had to do when Sam wasn’t smiling up at him like he did as a kid.

 

Dean stopped for a second, watching as his brother tensed up. If Sam tensed up when someone walked into a room it wasn’t because of Dean, it was usually dad. Sam knew Dean would never hurt him. He always relaxed when Dean came into a room whether he knew it or not.

 

Stifling a sigh, he realized what was with Sammy. It made sense now why he’d been sitting in the dark and as far from the door as possible. Something had happened while he was gone, it always did.

 

“Sammy?” Dean said, losing all humor in his voice. “You okay?”

 

Sam shrugged, keeping his face down. He didn’t want to have to deal with this. Tonight had been bad enough without having to go through all Dean’s crap. He could only take so much.

 

Dean knelt in front of him, his hand coming to rest gently on the back of his neck. His brother’s fingers curled in his hair, his palm fire against Sam’s skin. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them and kissed the side of his head.

 

As his other hand came up to wrap around him Sam jerked back. He was sick of that. Sick of the gentle touches before being pulled in close, whispered apologies echoing in his ears. Empty and motivated by guilt and a sense of obligation, so said the cynical part of him that had never applied to Dean before. The part of him he hated even more than the one that had motivated him to say something so stupid.

 

“Just don’t,” Sam snapped.

 

If he cared that damn much about Sam why didn’t he do something about it instead of trying to soothe things over with words? He wasn’t the one that got drunk and hit him after all. But he could be the one to stop it.

 

If he gave a damn.

 

“Sammy,” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry.”

 

He snorted. He was sorry. Yeah, he hadn’t seen that one coming.

 

“I’m sure you are.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his older brother demanded, letting his hand fall to his knee. He was sorry, he didn’t want this for Sam anymore than Sam did. He wanted to protect him, but he didn’t know what to do. And this was all he could think of.

 

“It means don’t bother. I’m over it.”

 

“Over what?”

 

“This, us, everything. It shouldn’t be like this.”

 

Dean rocked back on his heels. “I know.”

 

“Do you Dean?” Sam asked, hugging his knees tighter to his chest.

 

“What happened this time?”

 

“The same thing that happens every time you’re not here. He got drunk, we fought, and I got my ass kicked.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Sure.” He was okay. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d only had his ass handed to him for nothing more than an offhand comment about his brother. And like the good little brother he was he did as Dean asked and didn’t fight back.

 

He knew that Dean told him not to because drinking clouded your judgment and God only knew what would happen to him if he fought back and made him angry enough. There were too many weapons, too many ways to get hurt worse or killed.

 

“Honest?”

 

Sam sighed. “What do you want me to say? I’m as okay as it gets. So lay off.”

 

“I think the last time I told you that, I got smacked in the head,” Dean said thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah, well, you deserved it.”

 

“I don’t think so little bro. But I’ll let it slide this time. C’mon.”

 

He held his hand out to Sam and waited for him to take it. Sam pressed his forehead back into his knees. He’d meant what he said. He didn’t want Dean to bother anymore with him. Especially not tonight. Tonight had been bad.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Just go, Dean. I said don’t bother.”

 

“Not gonna happen,” he said calmly. “You’re my little brother. I’m always gonna ‘bother’.” Sam was beginning to irritate him with his ‘don’t bother’ routine. It wasn’t a bother for him, Sam was his baby brother. This was exactly what he’d been put on this Earth to do, look after his family.

 

Sam lifted his face a little. “Do me a favor and don’t. I’m sure you have a date tonight anyway.”

 

“Where do you think I came from?”

 

“Yeah, and?” Like Dean only had one date tonight. Sam wasn’t blind; he saw the way girls looked at his brother. The way guys looked at his brother. The way he sometimes found himself look at his brother.

 

“You’re more important.”

 

That was it. That was more than he could take. If he was so goddamn important why didn’t he do something to stop this from happening instead of hanging around after?

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Dean gaped at his younger brother. He knew that Sam was hurting and that he was confused. He had every right to be. But he’d never pushed Dean away before, especially not when he was offering his touch, something he didn’t do often.

 

“Dude what the hell is your problem?”

 

“Nothing,” Sam said with false calmness. “I’m fine. You’re just crowding me, all right?”

 

“Crowding you?” Dean repeated, mystified. “Since when am I ever ‘crowding you’?”

 

“Since now. Just go out or go to bed or whatever you’re going to do and leave me alone.” The last thing he wanted was Dean’s anything, his touch, his sympathy, or his guilt. He just wanted to forget tonight. Tomorrow he could deal with the consequences, but tonight it was just too much.

 

“Sam, I’m trying to-“

 

“Trying to what?” he interrupted. “Bore me to death? Because I’m almost there.”

 

Why couldn’t he just take a hint and leave him alone? When Dean didn’t want Sam anywhere near him he had no problem letting Sam know. And Sam always left him alone when he really meant it. He knew when to push and when not to. But apparently that gene hadn’t been passed on to his older brother.

 

“Sammy-“

 

Sam swallowed hard. That wasn’t fair. Why did he have to call him Sammy? How was he supposed to protect himself from this when Dean couldn’t just back off? Calling him Sammy threw him all out of whack and confused him more than ever. It was his brother’s pet name for him and it made him feel like Dean cared about him, loved him. To hear it now, of all times, just hurt more.

 

“What are you even doing here?” he said thickly, interrupting his brother again before he could make things worse. Before he got Sam so worked up he was crying and making an idiot of himself.

 

“I’m here because I give a damn about you,” Dean growled. He was quickly losing his patience with Sam, something he didn’t do often. But right now was a bad time for him to be pushing Dean. He was just trying to take care of his little brother. That was his job; didn’t he understand that by now? “So lose the attitude.”

 

“If you fucking care so much then why do you let it happen?” he snapped. That wasn’t what he’d planned on saying. He hadn’t planned on saying anything other than ‘leave me alone’, he wanted to wait until morning, when he was calmer and could think clearly. “You won’t let me fight back-”

 

“He could kill you, Sam!” he hissed. “He’s not thinking about what he’s doing and what if he took things too far? Do you want to die?”

 

Because he sure as hell didn’t want that for Sam. Couldn’t stand that.

 

“Like you care,” Sam answered sullenly. He knew that wasn’t fair. But that’s what it felt like sometimes. His brother could just get up and walk out of the apartment without worrying about what would happen to Sam. He was only there to clean things up in the end. Never to stop it or to protect Sam and sometimes he wondered if it was because his brother didn’t care about him or if maybe he had done something wrong.

 

“Stop saying that!” Dean yelled, jerking Sam’s chin up. ”I-“He froze mid rant, swallowing the lump in his throat. “He did this?”

 

Sam pulled back. “It doesn’t-“

 

“The hell it doesn’t,” he said cutting Sam off before he could tell him that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter.

 

He gentled his hold on Sam and turned his head from side to side. Sam’s bottom lip was split and his nose bloodied. His left eye was already starting to swell shut, a sickly yellow coloring around it. And his cheek was red, the skin raw and abused. Dean could tell a bruise would be coming in there too. His face was an absolute mess.

 

He brushed his thumb gently over Sam’s bloodied bottom lip. “Sammy,” he breathed. “What the hell happened?”

 

“I said something stupid, same as always.”

 

“This isn’t like always. It’s never been this bad before.”

 

“Yeah, well, I never said anything about you before.”

 

Dean frowned. “What about me?”

 

Sam blushed. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Is that your catchphrase for the month? What the hell did you say?” he demanded.

 

“It was stupid,” Sam insisted. “Forget it.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Tell me geek boy.”

 

Sam sighed heavily and rushed on, barely making any sense. But what Dean thought he said was, “I said that maybe if I fucked you, you’d be at home instead of out with whoever. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with dad.”

 

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It was no wonder dad had gone off the deep end on Sam. What the hell had Sam been thinking, saying something like that? It was too off the wall even for him.

 

“I didn’t even mean for him to hear it. It was stupid. I didn’t think he had until…” Sam trailed off. He didn’t want to relive tonight with his brother. He’d been there once and that was enough.

 

What he’d said was stupid and he knew it. It had been just some off hand comment, one he hadn’t thought out obviously. He was feeling bitter, standing there at the sink doing dishes, left alone with dad while he got drunk. Dean was out on a date a one night stand meaning more to him than the younger brother that worshipped him back at home. The younger brother he was leaving at home to be beaten.

 

Dad had always had a bit of a drinking problem, but the last few months things had gotten worse. He got drunk every night, instead of every other and soon passing out wasn’t enough of a way to end the evening. Sam could still remember that night, clearer than any other.

 

It was the first time Dean had ever let him hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Sam were wrestling around in the living room, their bantering having escalated into something physical. Sam had the upper hand for once and was straddling his older brother triumphantly. 

 

Dean bucked beneath him, trying to disengage the grip Sam’s long legs had on his hips when he refused to get off. Unfortunately for both he miscalculated the move and the strength of Sam’s hold, sending Sam flying into the side table and the lamp crashing to the floor. 

 

Sam quickly righted himself and gaped at Dean. That was exactly what they needed to do, piss dad off _now_ while he was drinking. Best time in the world to piss the old man off.

 

“What the hell dude?” Sam hissed, punching him in the arm. 

 

“I told you to get off of me!” he hissed back and propped himself up on his elbows. “Great going, geekboy.”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re a klutz!”

 

“I’m the klutz?” Dean questioned in disbelief. “I believe it was you Sammy boy who knocked the lamp over.”

 

“Only because you knocked me into it,” he shot back.

 

“Only because you wouldn’t get off of me.”

 

Sam sighed in frustration and shook his head. “Idiot,” he mumbled. 

 

Dean opened his mouth to undoubtedly say something smart ass when they heard dad stumble into the room, cursing loudly. 

 

“What the hell’s going on in here?” he demanded, his gaze landing on the shattered lamp.

 

They could tell the oldest Winchester wasn’t drunk just yet when he managed a complete sentence without slurring. That was a good sign they thought, because a lamp was just a lamp when you’re sober and rational, right? 

 

His gaze flickered from the mess on the floor to the boys, frozen in indecision. Sam still straddled Dean, his hands resting on his thighs while his oldest son lay beneath him, propped up on his elbows. Both sets of wary eyes locked on him.

 

Dean tensed beneath his brother as he saw the sudden flash of fury in dad’s eyes and before either could make a move he had a hand fisted in Sam’s shirt and was hauling him up to his feet.

 

“What the hell is going on in here?” he repeated, ignoring Dean as he quickly climbed to his feet.

 

“We were just messing around,” he answered quietly. His spine straightening automatically. 

 

Sam shot his brother a confused look, quickly refocusing on dad as he gave him a sharp shake. His teeth rattled with the force of it and his head snapped back painfully. 

 

What the hell was his problem? It wasn’t like they hadn’t broken something before. They were after all teenage boys, what else did they have to do besides hunt? And they couldn’t be hunting all the time, now could they? 

 

Dad glared at Sam, repeating his question for the third time. Clearly he didn’t want Dean’s take on the situation, he wanted to hear it from his youngest’s mouth.

 

“It was an accident. I hit the table and the lamp fell over,” he explained quietly. 

 

He’d been in trouble before but he’d never seen dad like this. He was so angry, as if he’d just caught Sam doing something unspeakable like planning to run away from home. It was only a lamp. 

 

Sam didn’t know what happened next. All he could remember was Dean leaning over him, cupping his face in his hands and saying something he couldn’t quite make out. 

 

Well, two Dean’s leaning over him, as his vision swam and doubled. His body ached and his face stung. He felt like he’d been rammed repeatedly into a wall or drop kicked down the block

 

Blinking slowly he tried to sit up and felt his stomach heave in protest. He quickly dropped back to the floor, watching his older brother curiously. His face was twisted up in fear and guilt, his normal grin gone. 

 

“Sammy, you okay?” he asked again, this time his words making sense to Sam. 

 

He tried to nod but couldn’t quite manage it, instead croaking out a simple ‘yes’. 

 

What the hell had just happened? One second he was being dragged to his feet and an answer demanded of him, the next he was lying on the living room floor with his older brother worrying over him. How had a simple wrestling match got so out of hand?

 

Dean carefully lifted him into a sitting position, checking his face and the back of his head. While he inspected his body Sam tried to remember what had happened. Closing his eyes he leaned forward against Dean’s chest and pressed his face into the crook of his brother’s neck, startled when he heard a deep growl behind him.

 

His brother set him back down as quickly and carefully as possible, intercepting dad before he could come near either of them. He took their father by his shoulders and led him back into the kitchen. Probably for another drink, Sam thought bitterly.

 

He brought a shaky hand to his forehead and groaned as the images came rushing back. He was talking to dad, Dean standing nervously in front of him. Then his dad was yelling, cursing, about what he couldn’t remember. The fist connecting with his face an instant later more than likely the cause of that. 

 

Why hadn’t Dean stopped what happened next? The wall, the floor, his father’s fist, all becoming very familiar with Sam’s body as Dean stood there yelling at dad to calm down. Yelling, that’s all he did. He didn’t make a move to stop him until he’d passed out. 

 

Sam swallowed the bile rising in his throat and pushed to his feet. Dean wasn’t coming back, he knew. He didn’t have to hear his brother’s voice talking calmly to their father, or the slam of the front door behind him as he jogged out to the car and more than likely the nearest bar. 

 

For the first time in his life Dean had let him fall. 

 

Forcing those thoughts into the back of his mind he dragged himself into bed and let himself fall into a fitful sleep. A few hours later he was woken by an annoyingly loud older brother stumbling into their bedroom. 

 

Dean dropped down onto his bed, his hand stroking up Sam’s back apologetically. He leaned forward, his breath hot on Sam’s face and the stench of cheap beer hitting him full on. 

 

“Sammy?” he whispered. “Sammy, I’m sorry.”

 

Sam rolled onto his side, his brother’s hand slipping underneath his shirt against hot skin. He shivered at the touch but ignored it. He had more important things to focus on then inappropriate thoughts or feelings toward his older brother. Like the fact that said older brother was currently drunk and feeling guilty and Sam had no idea what to do or say to fix anything that had happened tonight.

 

“Dean?” 

 

“You okay?” he asked, crawling in beside him. 

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Sammy,” he chided.

 

Sam sighed in defeat and finally let go of the tears that had been threatening since Dean had left. “What happened? Why did he flip out like that? It was just a lamp, I-“ 

 

“It had nothing to do with you, Sammy. This wasn’t your fault.” He wrapped his free arm around Sam and pulled him against his chest, careful not to hit any of his bruised spots. Sam didn’t understand what had set dad off, but Dean did. “It was my fault, Sammy. Go to sleep.”

 

And that was how the annoying tradition had begun.

 

 

After that first night it happened more and more often, so that Dean had begun to force Sam to stay in their bedroom constantly. Every little thing he said or did only setting dad off.

 

He’d done as Dean had said tonight and stayed in there, studying, staring out the window and wondering how the hell his life had turned into this. But then dad had started in on him, how he wasn’t like Dean, never had been. He couldn’t follow orders, couldn’t just do as he was told. Like the goddamn dishes that were still in the sink.

 

The only reason he’d gone out there was because he was afraid that the dishes would be the thing that set him off tonight. He’d been trying his best to stay out of dad’s way for Dean’s sake. He could see how it was tearing his brother apart to be caught between them.

 

He hated himself for it, hated dad, and sometimes he hated Dean. But hating Dean was like trying to live without oxygen, it never lasted. His brother would apologize in that broken whisper and he’d hate himself all over again for hating Dean and for getting in dad’s way.

 

Like now as Dean gently pulled him to his feet and led him over to his bed.

 

“That was stupid,” he finally said. “I told you to stay in the bedroom.”

 

“Yeah, sorry I ran my face into dad’s fist. Next time I’ll try to be more careful,” Sam said sarcastically.

 

“That’s not what I meant, Sam.”

 

He shook his head in frustration and lowered Sam onto the bed. The two of them had always butted heads, a lot of the time over something stupid, but when things were as bad as they were Sam should have known better than to say anything like that.

 

Hell, he should have known better than to say anything like that ever. No matter what things were like. It wasn’t normal and it was much too close to the thoughts that drove Dean out of the house in the first place.

 

Then again who the hell was he to say anything when he should have been there in the first place?

 

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew that wasn’t what his brother meant. He knew that he didn’t want to be stuck in the middle and he knew that Dean was as fed up with this as he was. He wasn’t the type to comfort and touch if it wasn’t going to get him anywhere and for the past several months that seemed to be the only thing he did.

 

So Sam was sorry if he was cramping Dean’s style, but he didn’t know what he was doing wrong and he couldn’t fix what he didn’t know. As far as he was concerned Dean could just stop it all together and get back to his life. All he did was make things harder for Sam anyway.

 

Sam rolled over onto his side and pushed Dean’s hands away. “You’ve got a date,” he reminded him coldly.

 

“Sammy-“

 

“Night, Dean.”

 

And with that he pulled his pillow over his face and waited for the soft click of the bedroom door that never came. He knew Dean wasn’t going to leave him, he never did.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Sam as he fell asleep. How had it come to this? To the point where Sam just didn’t want Dean around him anymore, didn’t want his touch or his comfort. When Sam was little that was all he had ever wanted and Dean never thought he’d grow out of it.

 

No matter how old the little brat got.

 

His chest tightened, realizing that this was his fault. He’d pushed his brother away and made sure he stayed away. He could have made this right a thousand times. All it would have taken was an honest explanation, an attempt at protecting Sam or taking the blame that was rightfully his. But he’d been too damn scared to tell Sam what this was about, scared that _that_ would break them apart.

 

Instead hiding it had.

 

Fuck. How could he have let this happen to Sam? He was supposed to protect him, not walk out and pretend nothing was happening. He should have done so much more than just hold him after. That meant nothing, it was cowardly and cold. He should have been there in the first place taking the blows for him.

 

They were rightfully his anyway.

 

Sammy was completely innocent from this. From most things and Dean had always kept it that way, so why had he fucked things up so badly now? Because he was a coward. He was weak. He was an idiot. And worse than any of it, he was a failure as an older brother.

 

Dean reached a hand out, brushing his hair gently from his face. Why couldn’t he just admit to Sam what was happening and how he felt? Why did he always have to hide behind his sarcasm and smart ass jokes?

 

“Dammit Sammy,” he murmured. “I messed everything up.”

 

Sam shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back and exposing smooth tan skin. Guilt twisted his stomach and he reached a hesitant hand out to pull his shirt further up. He bit down hard on his lip, the taste of copper filling his senses.

 

It wasn’t just Sam’s face that was messed up. His stomach and sides were bruised, a particularly nasty one taking on the shape of a boot. He hadn’t seen Sam so beat up since that first night.

 

 

Dean stared up at his brother, trying to force his heart back down into his chest where it belonged. Rough housing had gone too far like it always did and now he was in a very awkward position.

 

“Get off,” Dean demanded.

 

But to his dismay Sam just grinned in triumph and held his hips tighter. There was no way he was giving up now. Dean felt his stomach tighten with that familiar desire that overtook him sometimes. That forced him to spend too many hours in a bar with a girl he didn’t know, didn’t want to know and a beer in his hand to help him forget just in case the girl wasn’t enough. 

 

He had to get Sam off of him now. Dean bucked, trying to dislodge Sam. Even as he did it he realized how stupid it was, there was no way Sam wouldn’t expect something like that. 

 

Only he hadn’t. His grip had just been a lot stronger than Dean thought and Sam went flying into the table next to them, the lamp shattering. Normally this would have been funny. Something to torture his brother over, tease him about. A few weeks ago it would have been funny. Now it was bad, very, very bad. 

 

He listened for the tell tale sounds of his slightly tipsy and soon to be very drunk father. He’d been drinking even more since that night and Dean knew why. It ate away at him at night, making him hate himself even more. 

 

It wasn’t something he’d done intentionally. It wasn’t something he wanted. It had just happened to him, like losing his mother or like losing a chance at a normal life. 

 

It sucked but it was his reality. 

 

“What the hell dude?” Sam hissed and punched him in the arm. 

 

What the hell dude was right. They were going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble if Sam didn’t get moving. A broken lamp he could explain, his younger brother straddling him…not so much. Not now anyway.

 

“I told you to get off of me!” he hissed nervously. “Great going geekboy!”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re a klutz!”

 

“I’m the klutz?” Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I believe it was you Sammy boy who knocked the lamp over.”

 

Sam’s face scrunched up in disagreement, taking on that familiar look of defiance. “Only because you knocked me into it.”

 

“Only because you wouldn’t get off of me,” he pointed out. Granted it hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had, but there was no way he was taking the fall. Not with Sam, with dad he would take all the blame. Right now it was about saving face.

 

Sam sighed in frustration and shook his head, mumbling “Idiot.” 

 

Dean opened his mouth, ready to let Sam know just how much of an idiot he was when he heard dad stumble and curse. 

 

He froze and watched his father carefully. This was bad, so very, very bad. Sam could not be in a worse position if he tried, straddling Dean, his hands resting on his thighs and staring guilty up at dad. 

 

The guilt was what sealed his fate, Dean would decide later. It made him think that the lamp hadn’t been the casualty of a wrestling match but of something much worse. Something that in dad’s mind was reason enough for what he did next. 

 

“What the hell’s going on in here?” he demanded, his eyes for the moment only on the lamp. Now if they could just keep his focus there until Sam got off of him, they might have a shot of surviving. 

 

No such luck. 

 

Dad’s gaze shifted from the mess on the floor to his boys. Dean frozen in indecision with Sam still straddling him, his younger brother’s hands resting on his thighs. While Sam sat above him, worrying about the lamp on the floor. Both sets of wary eyes locked on him.

 

Dean shivered beneath his brother as he saw the sudden flash of fury in dad’s eyes. He tensed, ready to put himself between Sam and dad only to find dad’s hand fisted in Sam’s shirt and hauling him to his feet.

 

“What the hell is going on in here?” he repeated.

 

Dean shot to his feet. Oh shit. This wasn’t good. Dad wouldn’t even look at him, instead glaring at Sam as if this was all his fault. His younger brother’s confused face stared back at him. _It was just a lamp_ , he could practically hear Sam saying it now. 

 

Except it wasn’t. Not to dad. Not to Dean. Only Sammy.

 

“We were just messing around,” Dean answered quietly. 

 

Dad glared at Sam, repeating his question for the third time. Right now Dean didn’t exist. 

 

“It was an accident. I hit the table and the lamp fell over,” Sam explained slowly. 

 

“I don’t care about the lamp,” he growled.

 

“Then what are you talking about?” he asked shaking his head. 

 

No, Dean pleaded silently. This couldn’t go there. Sam couldn’t know. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” dad yelled, ignoring Sam’s confusion. He slammed him into the wall face first. “Doing that to your brother! You-“

 

“Dad, stop!” Dean yelled. He felt his heart trying to claw its way from his chest as he tried not to panic. This was wrong. God, this was so wrong! What the hell was dad doing? Why wasn’t Sam fighting back? Why wasn’t Dean? “It was just an accident! Dad, please!”

 

Dad wasn’t listening. He was too focused on beating whatever this was out of Sam. As if that would work, as if Sam even knew what was going on. But in dad’s alcohol soaked brain it all made sense. Sam knew about it, it was Sam’s fault that Dean had these thoughts. It had to be. 

 

He slammed Sam against the wall again, cursing him, cursing the day he was born. He was screaming such awful things, blaming Sam for everything. For mom dying, for their lives being nothing but this hunt, this obsession for revenge and nothing more, for Dean falling right off that pedestal dad had set him on. This was Sam’s fault that nothing made sense to him anymore. 

 

He stood there too stunned to move for the first time in his life, his fists unconsciously clenching and unclenching at his sides. Why couldn’t he move? Why wouldn’t he do something other then yell at dad and beg him to stop? 

 

Then he took things too far. Further than slamming Sam face first into the wall, further than punching him, than throwing him to the ground and kicking him repeatedly. He was tearing at Sam’s clothes now, for what Dean didn’t know, didn’t _want_ to know. He just knew that it was _wrong_ in a different way. 

 

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand to watch Sam like that. Something inside him snapped. Forcing down the bile he stepped forward and shoved dad backwards. Dad snarled as if he’d take on Dean too, his fists unclenching and clenching. He looked murderous.

 

But Dean shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest wordlessly. This ended now. He wasn’t going to waste his breath anymore. For a second Dean thought he’d keep coming and he’d have to really fight dad. But then suddenly his expression changed, his face going slack and his eyes empty. He shook his head at his oldest son and shoved past him, heading into the kitchen for no doubt another drink. 

 

Sighing he dropped to his knees next to Sam and straightened his clothes. He was unconscious now and thankfully he wouldn’t remember that part of the night. He didn’t need the image of his father trying to tear his clothes off and blaming him for all the things that had gone wrong. Sam was the last person on Earth to deserve that.

 

He took Sam’s face in his hands, trying to wake him as quickly as he could. There was no telling when dad would be back. All it would take was one thought, one stray memory or reminder and he’d be back out here on Sam. 

 

“Sammy? Sammy, are you okay?” he whispered loudly. 

 

His chocolate brown eyes were open but unfocused. He was staring curiously up at Dean as if he didn’t remember a thing. It took him a moment to readjust and then he was trying to sit up. His brother’s face emptied of color and he dropped back to the floor. 

 

Dean waited for him to focus and let him know he was okay before he pulled him forward to check the back of his head and his face for any serious wounds. Thankfully it seemed to be all bruises and superficial cuts. But his brother was worn down and confused.

 

Sam sank against him, burying his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. His breath was hot on his skin and sent his heart into an erratic rhythm. He fought the urge to pull Sam closer and never let go. As long as he was in Dean’s arms nothing could hurt him, this couldn’t happen if he was in Dean’s arms. But he couldn’t keep him that way forever. 

 

The deep growl behind Sam driving that point home. He quickly released his younger brother and intercepted dad, leading him back towards the kitchen. If he wasn’t careful he was going to get Sam hurt again. It was hard enough to resist pulling Sam into his arms on a daily basis, when he was hurt it was damn near impossible. 

 

Walking into the kitchen Dean deposited dad against the counter, a bottle of whiskey almost immediately in hand. At least he’d be well medicated for the night. Enough that a second round with Sam wasn’t likely.

 

He leaned against the doorway for a moment and watched his father drink. He couldn’t face Sam. Not now. _He_ needed a drink. A dozen drinks. Maybe a dozen girls as well, to replace tonight.

 

 

Dean could go for a drink right about now too. But he couldn’t leave Sam alone again. Not this time. His brother had been right on so many levels it made him sick just to think how he’d neglected him. He wasn’t going to leave him tonight or any other again.


	4. Chapter 4

_So I'm selfish, and you're sorry._

_When I'm gone you'll be going nowhere fast._

_So who's selfish, and who's sorry?_

_-The Academy Is…:”Skeptics and True Believers”_

 

Dean woke the next morning to find the bed empty. He scrubbed his hand over his face and scooted a little further up the bed as he tried to get his thoughts together. Last night had been the final straw. Things were going to stop. He just had to find a way to do that without ruining what little was left between him and Sam if it was possible.

 

The bedroom door swung open to reveal a sleepy eyed Sam shuffling into the room. He watched Sam silently gather his clothes and head into the bathroom. Sam never got dressed in the bathroom. They had no problem changing in front of each other. They’d been doing it for years. He frowned and sat up, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam was angrier than he thought.

 

It was another twenty minutes before Sam emerged from the bathroom, moving stiffly around their room, checking to make sure he had everything. His hand was on the doorknob, turning it, when he stopped suddenly. He set his books on the desk behind him and dropped his backpack to the floor, hesitating again before turning around.

 

“Did I do something wrong, Dean? Is that why you never-“he stopped and shook his head. “Forget it.”

 

He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the answer to that. Dean stood up quickly, blocking his path before his brother could leave the room with false ideas. “You really believe that I don’t care about what happens to you?” he demanded.

 

Sam shrugged. What else was he supposed to believe? It was either that or he had done something that made Dean think he deserved this.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted quietly. He was torn between being angry with Dean for not protecting him and hating himself for making Dean not want to protect him.

 

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Look, Sam, you know how I feel about you. You’re my Sammy and I’ve always protected you from-“

 

“Everything but him.”

 

Dean hung his head. Sam was right. He should have been home stopping this from happening, keeping his younger brother safe. That’s what he was here for. What he had spent his life doing, until now. But when he thought about standing up to dad all he could think about was what he would do to Sam when he wasn’t around.

 

What if he made things worse for him? Dad was so much harder on Sam because of Dean. He didn’t want things to get out of hand. And he didn’t want Sam to know what dad already did.

 

“Forget it,” Sam said, shouldering his backpack. His brother didn’t have an answer and he didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit he could come up with. “I’ve got class.”

 

“Sam-“

 

Sam scooped his books up from the desk and pushed past Dean, biting hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. God his body ached so much right now, brushing past him was a stupid move.

 

“Let me drive you,” he said grabbing his jacket off the back of the desk chair.

 

“I’d rather walk.”

 

“Sammy, come on,” Dean snapped. “Don’t be like this.”

 

“Like what, Dean? Pissed because my older brother doesn’t give a fuck about me? How else am I supposed to be? Happy?” he snorted and threw his backpack down on the floor, kicking the bedroom door shut in case dad woke up. He didn’t need that now. Didn’t need a visual reminder that his brother didn’t care, he had the physical reminder of it every day.

 

“I never said any of that, if you’d just let me-“

 

“What?” he cut him off. “Explain? How do you explain any of this?” Sam held up a hand and shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t even want to know.”

 

Sam moved past Dean and set his books down on the desk. He kept his back to him and took deep breaths, blinking back tears. This was stupid. There was no use in crying. It wouldn’t do him any good. It would just give Dean something else to mess with him about.

 

A hand came down on his shoulder, forcing a hiss of pain past clenched teeth. Dammit, he’d been trying to hide this all morning and one stupid moment had ruined everything. Biting down hard on his bottom lip he waited, hoping that Dean was too caught up in his thoughts to have noticed.

 

No luck there.

 

“Sam? I thought you said you were okay,” he ground out angrily.

 

Dean was angry? What gave him the right to be angry? He wasn’t the one getting his ass kicked on a nightly basis and then having to hide it. If anyone had any right to be angry it was Sam, not Dean.

 

“I’d be okay if you’d just leave alone,” Sam snapped.

 

Ignoring him he tugged Sam’s shirt off and tossed it back on the bed behind him. If Sam wasn’t going to be straight with him, he wasn’t going to bother with formalities. He hissed and whipped his face up, glaring at his younger brother. He’d seen the bruises on his stomach and side last night, but he didn’t know it was this bad. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t he _fucking_ said _anything_?

 

“Sam, you should have-“

 

“You know Dean I’m not really up to hearing what I should have done, okay? I’ve pretty much got the point that I’m a screw up.”

 

“You’re not a screw up. I told you this isn’t your fault. But you should have told me.”

 

He snorted. “Why? So you can give me that guilty face and say _‘I’m sorry, Sammy’_?” he asked, mocking Dean. “Thanks but no thanks.” Sam moved past his brother, biting down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. God, all he wanted was a shower. A shower and then bed. Screw school or anything else, he just didn’t care right now.

 

His stomach dropped. He couldn’t believe that’s how he sounded. So pathetic and fake. Those words were completely useless. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d said those words to Sam hoping they’d mean something. But they were nothing. He was nothing.

 

He sank down on the bed, running his fingers through his hair.

 

“No matter what you think Sam, I never wanted this for you.”

 

“I didn’t say you did.”

 

“Might as well have. I fucked up, I know that. I’m trying to figure this all out, just please…”

 

Please what? Don’t hate him? Like he had any right to ask that of Sam. He had no right to ask him for anything. He shouldn’t have to ask him for anything because they shouldn’t be in this position. He should have stopped things before they’d even started. He was an idiot and somehow he was going to fix things, make things right between them.

 

Dean leaned forward, his fingers faintly tracing Sam’s bruised skin. It was a wonder Sam could move without crying out each time. Each bruise bigger than the next, sickly yellows and purples. He’d never been this beat up in his life. He pulled Sam closer, waiting for him to break his heart and pull away from him again. When he didn’t he spread his legs wider to welcome Sam’s body.

 

He looked up at his younger brother’s empty face and let that sink in. This was what Sam had become with Dean. Empty. He’d been like that with dad for years, but never with him and he couldn’t stand it.

 

Dropping his gaze, he memorized every scar, every bruise, every line of Sam’s chest and stomach. Each one a reminder of how he’d let Sam down in some form or another. He leaned closer, breathing in his brother’s scent.

 

It was like he couldn’t stop himself, Sam’s abused flesh calling him in. The old saying _kisses will make it all better_ , ringing in his head. He brushed his nose along the small strip of tanned skin that wasn’t changing colors, his lips grazing a particularly nasty bruise.

 

Sam’s stomach dipped as his tongue flicked out, tracing the edges. Whether either noticed Sam took a step closer to him, his hands finding their way to his shoulders and clutching at his shirt. Dean’s own hands holding him close, his thumb making soothing circles on his hip bone.

 

His breathing was shallow from pleasure now, the anger he’d felt moments ago long forgotten. How could he be angry at Dean now when he was making him feel so good?

 

Dean’s mouth moved higher, then lower. Tasting every inch of skin he could reach. He sucked hard, licking and biting at a clear patch of skin until he’d created a bruise of his own. This one made out of love and need, instead of fear and hate. Giving one last sharp bite he moved lower again, his tongue dipping beneath the waistband of Sam’s jeans.

 

“Dean?” Sam breathed, clutching his shirt. _More_ , he wanted more.

 

That was all it took for him to realize what he was doing. The small confused and pleading voice like a bucket of cold water to the face. This was Sam. _Sammy_!His _little brother_!

 

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” He pressed a quick, chaste kiss apologetically to the offended area. Desire flared in him again, the taste of Sam igniting the part of him he hated most. Swearing under his breath he jerked back.

 

What the hell was he thinking kissing him like that? He was supposed to be showing Sam he cared about him, not reinforcing the theory that he didn’t give a damn about what happened to him.

 

He stopped suddenly. Had Sam just whimpered?

 

“Sam?”

 

“Don’t pull back,” he pleaded. He knew that’s what Dean was doing. He’d known it even before he stopped calling him Sammy and went back to Sam. He’d known it the second he was stupid enough to open his mouth. He should have been thankful that Dean was even still talking to him, let alone trying to make things better for him. Now he was shutting down because he was angry with himself or with Sam and he didn’t want to deal with it. “You always do it Dean. You pull back and dad hits me, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Can’t you tell me?”

 

“Sam-“

 

“Please, Dean. Whatever it is I promise I’ll stop,” he swore. “Just tell me.”

 

“Sammy, it’s my fault he’s so much harder on you. You’re not doing anything wrong.” Dad had always blamed Sam for what had happened that day for some reason. Dean was supposed to be responsible for Sam, was supposed to take care of him. And he’d ruined that with one stupid mistake.

 

The only way dad had seemed to be able to deal with it was to blame Sam for pushing this on his oldest son. Sam was always coming to Dean when he was hurting or scared, always climbing into his arms or lap. He’d done it since he was a child.

 

Not so much now that he was older, but sometimes when things were really bad he’d forget how old he was and go running back to his big brother. Dean said nothing about it, wrapping his younger brother up in his arms and letting him forget. He didn’t even tease him about it later.

 

Once dad had started hitting Sam those nights had become more frequent. And then the nights of drinking and hitting became more frequent when they forgot to separate and fell asleep together, only to have dad walk in on them the next morning.

 

It wasn’t like they were doing anything wrong. Well, Sam wasn’t. Dean on the other hand was the cause of all of their problems.

 

Sam snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was a lamp Dean, we were screwing around and it fell. That’s not your fault, at least not all of it.”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

 

“Then what? What could be so bad that you both-“he faltered for a moment, thinking better of what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t imagine the look on his brother’s face when he accused him of wanting to hurt him. That was worse then telling Dean he didn’t want to protect him.

 

“Forget it, Sam. Just trust me, this isn’t you.” He sighed inwardly. He’d come so close to spilling his secret. That wasn’t something Sam needed on top of everything else. Who knew how he would take it? Badly, that was for sure. This was after all his brother betraying him over and over again.

 

How else should he take it?

 

“Then what? I’m the one that’s-“

 

“You’re going to be late to class, Sam,” he interrupted.

 

He gaped at Dean. Was he really doing this? Shutting down halfway through their conversation? Did he think that this fixed everything? Because it didn’t. It hadn’t fixed anything. All he ever heard was that it wasn’t his fault, it was Dean’s. Well if it was Dean’s why was he the one suffering? What the hell could his brother have done that was so bad?

 

Nodding he threw his shirt on quickly and grabbed his things. It was suddenly too hot in their room for him to think clearly.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Okay, this is kind of short and some of it feels off to me...I don't know, maybe it was just the rush I felt to get it done. Hopefully it doesn't seemed rushed though. And there's a bit of schmoop in here:) lol. Next chapter will be revealing and angsty, possibly schmoop. Because, hell, I'm pathetic!   


* * *

Dean grabbed his jacket and keys, following Sam silently out to the Impala. Sam wasn’t going to push it right now and that was a good thing because he was about ready to give. Then Sam would understand everything and only find a new reason to hate Dean.

 

No matter what was going on between them, Dean could still take his younger brother to school. What harm could it do?

 

Coming down the apartment steps he saw Sam already leaning against the Impala, head bent and arms crossed. Dean’s stomach dropped and twisted, and he suddenly realized it could do more harm than he thought.

 

xXx

 

They drove in silence, Sam staring out the window and Dean staring straight ahead. Sometimes when he couldn’t stand it anymore he’d glance over at Dean and frown as if he’d found the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

 

He wanted to ask Dean what was going on, what it was he wasn’t telling him. But he couldn’t. Pushing things was a bad idea. Dean would only retreat more into himself and then Sam wouldn’t even have his brother talking to him.

 

What a life that would be. Distant friends, an abusive alcoholic father, and an older brother who didn’t bother to talk to him anymore. The only thing he’d have left was school. And as much as he loved school, it wasn’t enough.

 

Even for Sam.

 

xXx

 

Dean pulled up in front of the school, watching as teenagers joked around and roughhoused. He understood why Sam wanted this, who wouldn’t? It meant acceptance and people who were there to watch out for you and to pick you up when you couldn’t do it for yourself.

 

Maybe they were better than family. Right now that was probably more true than Dean wanted to admit. But it wasn’t their life, and Sam didn’t have those luxuries. Not that Sam wasn’t likable, because the kid was damn loveable, even when he was being unbearable.

 

What Sam did have, was Dean.

 

Which, right now, may or may not have been a good thing in his brother’s mind.

 

When Sam didn’t even offer a goodbye as he reached for the door, Dean knew he had to say something.

 

Anything, if he wanted to keep Sam in his life. No matter how pathetic or lame it was.

 

“Sammy,” Dean said quietly.

 

His brother stopped, his hand on the door handle. “Yeah?”

 

Dean hesitated. Sam was right about everything he said being empty, but he felt like he had to say it. He had to let Sam know, had to hope that saying it enough would make him realize it was the truth.

 

“I never wanted this for you, you know that right?”

 

xXx

 

Sam dropped his head forward. How could he not know that? All the things his brother had given him over the years, the love, the patience, and the attention to every little thing. Of course he knew Dean didn’t want this for him.

 

He’d never said otherwise. He just didn’t understand why he let it _keep_ happening. He thought his brother understood that. Apparently he was wrong.

 

“Dean, please…” Sam scooted back in the seat, letting his hand drop to his lap. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of fighting.”

 

“I know, Sammy.”

 

“Tell me what to do, Dean. Just tell me how to fix this.”

 

xXx

 

Dean sighed and pulled Sam back against his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around his waist to hold him securely against him. What could he tell him? There wasn’t anything Sam could do, this wasn’t his fault. Dad wasn’t hitting him because of anything he’d done. It was between Dean and Dad.

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, pressing his face into Sam’s neck. He breathed him in and nuzzled lovingly at his throat. “I’ll fix this somehow. I promise.”

 

Sam shrugged apathetically and scooted forward, trying to disentangle himself from Dean. But that wasn’t going to work for him. He wanted Sam leaving this car with some sense of hope or belief that Dean would do what he said he would. Because Dean was not going to let Sam down. Before this, he’d never even thought of letting Sam down. And he wasn’t going to let his mistakes hurt him anymore than they already had.

 

He pulled Sam tighter against him. “Relax, Sammy. It’s not going to happen again.”

 

Sam shrugged again, his indifference enough to turn Dean’s stomach. Things were bad when he couldn’t even take Dean’s promise at face value. He felt like Sam didn’t know him, like he was just another random somebody in a long row of nobodies that couldn’t be trusted.

 

And he wasn’t. He was Sam’s older brother and that should mean something, even now.

 

Dean sighed and pressed his face back into Sam’s neck. He felt his brother shift, leaning further back into him and took that as some kind of acceptance.

 

xXx

 

Truthfully, it wasn’t that Sam didn’t believe Dean or that he didn’t want to believe Dean, but he was scared to. If Dean changed his mind (because Dean didn’t fail at anything), then it would only remind Sam of how undeserving he was of his brother’s affections.

 

Affections that felt beyond amazing right now.

 

He tried to play it cool and calm, but inside he was a mess. His heart was pounding, his pulse racing, and it felt like all the blood was rushing to his lower extremities.

 

In short, Dean was driving him crazy.

 

xXx

 

At Sam’s quiet sigh, Dean turned his head a little more and began mouthing silent apologies against the side of his neck absentmindedly. It didn’t occur to him that it was weird for him to do that, or wrong. Not now as Sam’s hands clutched his thighs, his face turning into Dean’s chest.

 

His only thoughts were of the salty sweet taste of skin and Sam’s almost desperate hold. He was sorry for all of this, he couldn’t say it enough, but Sam could hear it enough. He was sick of it and Dean knew it. So he did the only thing he could think of, he touched, held and kissed.

 

xXx

 

Sam sighed and arched his neck to give Dean more access. It didn’t occur to him either that this was weird or wrong, even if they were sitting in front of his school, where anyone could see them. Students passing by constantly on their way to class, that Sam would probably be late for now.

 

He didn’t care about anything, other then Dean’s apologetic kisses and his fear of whatever Sam hadn’t figured out yet, though. It all seemed more important then some history class he probably wouldn’t be in for much longer anyway. They’d already been here for a month or two, a record for them.

 

Dean’s hand slid underneath Sam’s shirt to rest against warm skin, his other hand curled in Sam’s hair.

 

“I believe you, Dean. You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

 

He squeezed Dean’s thigh and took a shuddering breath before finally forcing himself from his brother. Class may not have been that important, but keeping his sanity was. After what had happened in their room that morning and the way Dean had shut down then, he’d only get worse later.

 

Sam wanted to keep some of their relationship intact.

 

xXx

 

Watching Sam walk into the school, his movements more controlled then usual, he knew what he had to do.

 

He had to talk to dad.

 

But what the hell could he say? How did you tell your father it wasn’t your little brother’s fault that you wanted to fuck him senseless? That you had thoughts, fantasies about him every time you closed your eyes. Hell, every time he took a breath. But how did you have that kind of conversation with your father? Even if it had to be done.

 

He was still worried about making things worse for Sam. The way things were looking though, they were heading in that direction in the first place. Trying was better then just letting Sam suffer and running the risk of coming home one day to find his brother hurt badly enough to warrant a hospital or much, much worse.

 

Dean shifted out of park and headed home. Dad wouldn’t be awake for another few hours he was sure, and when he woke he’d have a pounding headache, a foul temper, and more than a few choice words for his oldest.

 

Or about his youngest.

 

Tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel he went over his options for the millionth time, hoping there was some other way out of this. Finding none he resigned himself to talking things out. Or more accurately threatening his father into leaving Sam alone. He was sure begging wouldn’t do anything; it hadn’t the first night. Why would it be any different now? Dad probably thought there was something going on between them, after Sam’s stupid remark he’d made that a very likely, very untrue, possibility.

 

Telling him there was nothing going on between them wouldn’t do a damn bit of good either. The idea was already planted, and there was no getting rid of it. He’d tell him anyway, to at least try and clear Sam’s name. Then he’d move on from there.

 

Because there wasn’t anything going on between Sam. Today had been…a fluke. An overflow of emotion that he just hadn’t been able to keep a handle on. Sam was confused and didn’t know what was going on. Dean had taken advantage of Sam’s need for his protection and love.

 

It wasn’t going to happen again.

 

Not that much had really happened. He hadn’t even _kissed_ Sam. Either way, Dad wasn’t going to touch Sam again.

 

The only thing Dean could threaten to do was bring in the police, a huge mistake that could ruin anything they had left.

 

It was either that or leaving all together.

 

Dad wouldn’t want either of his sons gone, even if he was afraid of them being something more than brothers. He wanted their messed up family together. He needed them for the hunt, to train them to take over when the time came.

 

At least, that was Dean’s opinion on it. If he was wrong, he was wrong. But it was all he had right now and he was going to play his cards any way he could to protect Sam.

 

Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment he shut the engine off and sat there, staring out at the clear sky. This could backfire so bad and he knew it.

 

But what choice did he have?


	6. Chapter 6

  
Author's notes: The secret is finally revealed...I wanted to hold out longer, but I'm weak. And I blame Dean for this. XD  


* * *

The next three days were torture for Sam. The memory of his brother’s hands, his mouth, his _tongue_ haunted him. It was the only thing he could think about, taste or feel. When he looked at Dean all he saw were his lips pressed against bare skin, his tongue tasting.

 

What made things worse was that Dean had stopped talking to him all together. Dad hadn’t touched him, Dean hadn’t left the house, and neither one of them said a word.

 

To him or each other.

 

The apartment was silent except for the sounds of the T.V. in the living room and the occasional opening of the refrigerator.

 

The silence was killing him and only fueling his obsessive focus on that day. It was stupid to think so much about it. It hadn’t meant anything. It’d been guilt and apologies. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Besides that, Dean was over it. He’d stopped it the minute Sam had wanted more, or at least the minute Sam had tried to _voice_ it. He didn’t want Sam getting the wrong idea, after all. Because if things went further, it would be incest. It would be wrong.

 

It would be _exactly_ what Sam wanted.

 

When night came, the lights shut off and salt lines drawn he had nothing but time. Sleep never came for him, and so peace inevitably avoided him as well. He tossed and turned for half the night, before he finally caved and rolled onto his side. He watched Dean’s chest, the rise and fall of even breaths, his brother perfectly capable of sleep, while he suffered.

 

He scowled in the dark and forced himself to roll over and face the opposite direction. It wasn’t doing him any good watching Dean, obsessing over something that had meant nothing. It was driving him crazy. And making him angry that his brother could remain so distant and unaffected by everything.

 

Sam ran through it again in his mind, until that fear, anger, and irritation pushed him to the breaking point and it was all Sam could do to nudge his brother awake and not shove him right off the bed.

 

What’s going on,” Sam demanded, when Dean’s sleepy gaze finally focused on him.

 

“What?” he muttered, irritably.

 

“What’s going on with you and Dad? You haven’t said a word to each other, or to me in three days.”

 

“Sorry, I’ve been a little preoccupied,” Dean lied. He’d been avoiding Sam and they both knew it. They just had different reasons for it.

 

“With what?”

 

“Stuff,” he replied evasively, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

 

Sam snorted. “Stuff, right. Whatever you say, man.” He turned on his heel to go, when he heard his brother mutter something under his breath. Something he was sure he didn’t want repeated. “You know what,” he said, facing Dean again. “I think I’ve been pretty damn patient with your bipolar ass. One second you’re kissing me, the next you’re refusing to even look at me. Why don’t you do us both a favor and pick one, before it drives me completely insane.”

 

“Sammy-”

 

“Don’t even,” he hissed. “I don’t want any excuses, or _explanations_ , what I want is for you to make up your mind and clue me in. Living with you is hard enough when you’re speaking to me, the idea that _you_ haven’t said anything in three days is so absurd, I’m beginning to wonder if I should find a priest.”

 

xXx

 

Dean climbed out of bed and shut the door quickly. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted Dad to hear, if he was still awake. And if he wasn’t, he didn’t want this to be the conversation that woke him. It would only undo, what he’d done for Sam. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed, motioning for Sam to come closer.

 

His brother stood motionless for a second, his face red and his chest heaving from his outburst. He wasn’t all the surprised at Sam’s reaction, he’d been expecting _something_. After all it had been three days, and the idea of _Sam_ not saying anything was more absurd than his silence.

 

He didn’t seem to get that of the two of them, Sam was the one that couldn’t stop talking. Dean could get by on smartass comments or shop talk. Sam wanted to get all touchy feely, and _understand_ things.

 

Like now.

 

xXx

 

Sam hesitated a second, before coming to stand between Dean’s legs. His mind flashing back to the last time he’d been there.

 

His stomach twisted in knots, his skin burning and itching for that touch again. He clenched his jaw tightly, ignoring impulses that told him to do anything other than talk things out with his brother. Dean wouldn’t put up with his jumping him, that was for sure. And Sam didn’t know if he could take that kind of rejection.

 

He didn’t want to find out either.

 

Sam blinked back the tears that were beginning to fill his eyes. Moments ago, he‘d been angry and demanding. It had been stupid, but it had worked. Dean was talking to him now, about to explain what was going on. Giving Sam the tiniest bit of hope for the mess their lives had become.

 

That was, if Sam didn’t screw things up.

 

xXx

 

“A few months ago Dad caught me jerking off,” Dean started hesitantly. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. There was no telling how Sam would take this. He could laugh it off as insane and ridiculous, or he could hold it against Dean as a reason to hate him. For getting him into this mess and for taking advantage of him while he was in the mess Dean had created.

 

Sam laughed and wiped the back of his hand across his face. “This is how you’re going to make me feel better? This is going to explain what the hell‘s been going?”

 

This definitely wasn’t a good idea.

 

xXx

 

When Dean didn’t laugh Sam let his hand drop and waited for him to continue. What was the big deal? It wasn’t like dad didn’t know about the things Dean did. They were all guys; they’d spent their entire lives in close quarters with each other and Dad. So what made this so significant?

 

“Dean?”

 

“He heard me moaning your name,” Dean mumbled, running a hand through short cropped hair.

 

Sam took a step back and collapsed on Dean’s bed behind him, his legs no longer working. Had he heard Dean right? “What?”

 

“He heard me moaning your name.”

 

Oh. He hadn’t heard him wrong after all.

 

“You were thinking about me?” Sam swallowed thickly. What was Dean saying? Was he actually admitting this to him?

 

Was he telling Sam what he wanted to hear, or the truth?

 

xXx

 

“Yes,” Dean muttered, ashamed.

 

At least now Sam would know why this was happening to him; know that it wasn’t anything he had done. But that Dean had done. It was all on Dean.

 

Sam laughed harshly and shook his head. “You were thinking about _me_?”

 

Dean glared at Sam. He’d already said yes once, what the hell did he want, a signed confession?

 

“Sorry,” Sam said, shaking his head again. “I just never thought in a million years you would be thinking of me.”

 

Dean scowled and shook his head. Sam was so dense, sometimes. He’d just admitted that Sam’s situation was because he was a sick, perverted older brother who fantasized about him while jerking off.

 

And all Sam had to say was, _I just never thought in a million years you would be thinking of me_. What the hell kind of response was that? How badly had he fucked his little brother up?

 

xXx

 

Sam frowned at the look Dean gave him. He looked almost hurt. Which was ridiculous because it was an insult to him, not Dean. But who knew how his brother’s mind worked? It was too complicated to even try sometimes.

 

Especially when he spoke smartass in place of English.

 

“I’m just a kid after all,” Sam went on quickly, an undeniable need to explain now controlling his mouth. “And you’ve got all those girls hanging off of you. Why would you be thinking of me?”

 

_Why would you be thinking of me_ , was what Sam said out loud, but what he was thinking was, _please tell me you want this like I do_. 

 

xXx

 

Dean looked back at Sam for a long moment, blinking slowly. His brother always seemed to come back to those girls, comparing Dean’s feelings for _those girls_ , to the feelings he had for Sam. As if theirs would always outweigh his.

 

Impossible.

 

But Sam seemed to focus on that a lot. It was those exact thoughts that had brought about the offhand comment, sending their father into a fit and Sam right back into their bedroom. Bleeding and bruised. The way Dean had found him the night he’d fucked things up with Sam big time.

 

He stood up suddenly, towering over Sam. How could he ask something like that? Even think it? No one would ever compare to the way he felt for his younger brother. It was exactly that, that had driven him over the edge. Had made him confess this. Because it sure the hell wasn’t out of the need for embarrassment.

 

xXx

 

“Dean?” Sam questioned nervously, fidgeting on the bed. He recognized that look. It was the one Dean gave him when he thought Sam was being an absolute moron and he was about ready to hand Sam his ass.

 

“You keep saying things like that. Like they could ever mean something,” Dean stated calmly.

 

“Like what could ever mean something?” He was confused. Did he mean the girls from school or the bars? Because he knew they were just a good fuck while they passed through town. There were always more towns and always more girls.

 

“You think I could care about someone more than you?”

 

Sam dropped his gaze. Yes, he thought quietly to himself. He did. He felt it in the way Dean held back, the way that Dean apologized for what was happening to him and then went out for a quick fuck.

 

It was the most logical conclusion when your older brother started touching you to make up for the way your dad beat the hell out of you. Dean could drop him so fast it made his head spin, while Sam was left wondering and wanting.

 

_Needing_. 

 

So yeah, most of the time he did think that.

 

“Well, I don’t Sam. Even when I should; it’s not normal.”

 

That almost had Sam laughing again. Them? _Normal_? Dean needed a dictionary badly.

 

“Since when are we normal?”

 

Dean glared. “That’s not the point. The point is, it’s wrong and now Dad’s taking it out on you, instead of me like he should.”

 

“He shouldn’t be taking it out on either of us, Dean! What _he’s_ doing is wrong. You haven’t even done anything,” he protested.

 

“What about the other day?” Dean asked quietly.

 

Oh. That. That had some how slipped Sam’s mind. It figured that after three days of obsessing and three nights of tossing and turning, _now_ he would manage to put it out of his mind.

 

“That was-“What was that? It hadn’t felt wrong. It’d felt good, familiar somehow. But he knew that if Dad ever found out he’d be in real trouble. It was weird, he would admit that, but like he’d asked Dean before, when had they ever been normal?

 

“Wrong, Sam. I took advantage of you and did something really stupid.”

 

Took advantage of him? If he remembered correctly, and there was no way that he didn’t remember that night, because it was burned into his mind, he’d responded to Dean.

 

_Eagerly_.

 

“You didn’t take advantage of me.”

 

xXx

 

Dean had left a few new additions to Sam’s already abused skin, sucking until there was hardly any tan flesh unmarked.

 

Some dad’s markings and now some Dean’s.

 

All because of one dirty little secret.

 

If that wasn’t taking advantage of his little brother he didn’t know what was. Who knew how far things might have gone if Sam hadn’t said something? He wasn’t thinking clearly, only aware of the smell of Sam, the taste of hot flesh, and the sound of his brother’s suddenly shallow breathing.

 

“What would you call it then?” he sighed, returning to the bed.

 

He had a thousand different words for it, and each made him cringe more than the last.

 

xXx

 

_Hot_ , Sam thought dryly. _Very hot_. That obviously wasn’t how Dean saw it though. To him it was a mistake, a stupid, stupid mistake.

 

“How about, dream come true?” he answered. He managed a steady, serious voice, but his pulse was pounding in his ears and his heart hammering in his chest. There was no telling how he would react to his half hearted joke.

 

This was Dean, after all.

 

It had to be said, though. If not for him, than for Dean. His brother had to know that Sam wasn’t angry, that what had happened between them wasn’t as terrible as he thought. God knew what kind of horrific thing Dean had made it into, in his mind.

 

When it came to protecting his family, he had a flare for the dramatic.

 

xXx

 

A dream come true? Was Sam serious? Or had he picked up a drinking habit when Dean wasn’t looking these past three days. Which, of course, was never. Just because he hadn’t said anything, didn’t mean he hadn’t been paying attention.

 

He was always paying attention to Sam. Good or bad, he was.

 

The other day had been in every thought, every breath. He just knew how to hide things a little better than Sam did. Of course, he’d thought that Sam was anxious because Dean had crossed that line. Or come as close to crossing it as he could, without jumping right the hell over it. Not because he _wanted_ this.

 

“Sam, I messed up. You don’t have to try and make things right.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Make what right? I want this and I think you want this, Dean. I think it’s pretty much worked itself out.”

 

“You can’t want this, Sammy,” Dean argued, shaking his head. Sam couldn’t mean that, couldn’t want this. It was wrong, it was sick, it was everything Sam wasn’t.

 

xXx

 

Sam bit back a groan. He hated when Dean got this way. Stubborn and disbelieving of anything Sam said, other than the negative. He couldn’t just let himself believe that someone loved him, wanted him, no matter right or wrong.

 

That would be much to easy. Too healthy.

 

“I do want this, Dean. It fit, _we_ fit,” Sam exclaimed, crossing the room to stand between Dean’s legs. He was beginning to see a pattern with this, a new kink maybe, not that he was complaining. He’d never heard anyone complain about being between his brother’s leg, and he sure the hell wasn’t going to be the one to start. “You make me feel safe, Dean. You make me forget everything else. If that’s not-”

 

“Sam,” Dean warned. His face a mix of torture, fear and hope.

 

He ignored his brother and pushed on, “If that’s not _love_ , Dean, then tell me what it is?”

 

“Delusions?”

 

Sam gave a snort of disgust. “If you don’t feel that way, that’s fine. I don’t want you to lie about anything. But don’t tell me I don’t know what I want, or that I don’t love you, Dean. Because you _can’t_ know how I feel.”

 

He held his breath as Dean studied his face, and hoped that he looked calmer than he felt. Hearing that Dean didn’t feel the same way wouldn’t be _fine_. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t want Dean to lie about anything, but that didn’t mean that it would feel good to hear him say he didn’t feel anything other than brotherly love, towards him.

 

He’d taken a risk, telling Dean what was in his heart.

 

Or at least some of it. This was Dean after all, and Sam wanted to be able to live with him.

 

xXx

 

“That’s not fair, Sam. You know how I feel about you, but you can’t just say you love me and think that this makes everything okay. It’s wrong, the way I feel about you. Everything about this is wrong.”

 

His younger brother shrugged. “You make me happy, how can that be wrong?”

 

“A lot of things can make you happy, that doesn’t make them right.”

 

“ _This is_ right,” he insisted. “We’re not hurting anyone. And-”

 

“Sam, just stop,” Dean interrupted. He couldn’t stand to listen to this. He had no other arguments for Sam other than this was wrong and look what Dad had already done because Dean had been fantasizing about Sam. If he knew they were even _thinking_ about starting something, they’d both be dead for sure. Well, someone would be dead, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 

Worse, if something happened between them and he hurt Sam…that was more reason than Dean needed to stop things before they started.

 

“Why, Dean? Because you know I’m right?”

 

“You’re not right. You’re the opposite of right, ya know, _wrong_.”

 

“How am I wrong? I want this, you want this…don’t you?”

 

“Sammy, that’s now what this is about…”

 

The pleading tone in Sam’s voice was like a punch to the gut. It was amazing that he could believe anything other than Dean wanted him. He’d all but spelled it out for Sam. He might as well have had it tattooed on his forehead, it was so obvious.

 

To everyone other than Sam, that was.

 

xXx

 

That was exactly what this was about. He loved Dean and he was pretty sure that Dean loved him, or at the very least felt something. Why was he the only one fighting for this?

 

“Tell me you don’t want me, this, _us_ ,” Sam urged, crowding Dean.

 

“Sam,” he warned again. “We aren’t talking about-”

 

“We _are_ talking about that. I’ve already had my ass kicked for it, I might as well admit that I want you. You’re so hell bent on feeling guilty, why don’t you just admit that you want this too. Then you can have something to really feel guilty over.” It wasn’t until Dean’s hand brushed against his cheek, that he realized he was shaking. With fear or anger, he wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t seem to stop it. “Just tell me you don’t want this, Dean, and I’ll leave it alone. I promise.”

 

xXx

 

He brushed his hand over Sam’s cheek again, watching as Sam’s shaking worsened. At least now he knew it was out of fear or pleasure, and not anger. He couldn’t stand having Sam angry with him, for his own good or not.

 

More than that, he couldn’t stand for Sam to have the wrong idea about his feelings. Again, for his own good or not.

 

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, grabbing the back of Sam’s neck and crushing their mouths together. “I want you, Sammy,” he managed between kisses. “I’ve always wanted you.”

 

There was no point in lying, even if he could. It was like denying who he was, and he couldn’t do that.

 

He was Dean Winchester, and he was in love with his younger brother.

 

xXx

 

Sam whimpered in response and kissed Dean back reverently. For once he didn’t know what to say, or to explain how he felt.

 

For once Dean was taking that role and all Sam had to offer was his whimper of complete surrender.

 

Eventually, when he’d relearned how to breathe, he’d think on it. And talk it to death, like his brother expected.

 

Right now he just wanted to _feel_.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Author's notes: Hey guys! It's been a while, I know. But I just got back from my little road trip with the girls. I've only been back about a day and already I'm worn down again. I need more vaca! Thankfully, I have you guys. Reviews=love, remember? So review. I wrote this bit a long time ago, when I first started this fic and just added to it. So if grammar is off, or commas are out of place, you know why. OH! And just before I left for my road trip, last Thursday night, I had the worst dream ever! I dreamed that I was checking my account at a friends and all the reviews were telling me to stop writing. That my stories were terrible, etc. cries It really was a terrible dream. And when I woke up, it took me forever to realize it was a dream. lol okay, note is way too long...   


* * *

Sam shut the bathroom door carefully behind him and took a deep breath. He really wasn’t going to like this, he was sure. But what choice did he have? He quickly disposed of his shirt and forced himself to look in the mirror.

 

Wincing, he turned from side to side, inspecting the damage. It wasn’t that bad really. A few bruises here and there. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

 

Dean, on the other hand, would lose his mind over it.

 

It’d been three weeks since Sam had forced an answer from Dean, and two weeks since Dad had hit him. He’d made it a whole week without touching Sam. Until one night, with Dean out hustling, Dad had a break through in his one track thinking. He figured that if he only hit Sam where it couldn’t be seen, then he could make sure there was nothing going on between his sons. That’s what he’d said, anyway. Because if Dean knew about Sam’s bruises, then they were doing things they shouldn’t. Apparently he thought today, was a good day to test that theory again.

 

Sam hadn’t pointed out the holes in Dad’s logic when he’d first explained himself. He hadn’t reminded him that they shared a bedroom (which had probably saved him another round), or that they changed in front of each other. Or any of the other random, innocent ways they’d seen each other without clothes, or shirts at least.

 

Because what was the point of that? He’d only suspect that Sam had something to hide. Which he did, but that wasn’t the point. Dad didn’t know and that was the way things had to stay.

 

Dean’s orders.

 

Normally Sam would have argued, if for no other reason than to argue. But he knew that Dean had a point, as today had more than proved (again). Dad would hate the idea of them being together, would lose what little self control he had left and would wind up doing something they would _all_ regret.

 

And so what if they had to keep it a secret. Sam was happy with Dean, and he was pretty sure that Dean was happy with him. Wasn’t that all that mattered? People wouldn’t understand, Dad especially. They didn’t have to work hard to see each other or be with each other either. Dad was drunk most of the time or away hunting. When they went together on trips and had to share a motel room, then things would get bad.

 

Dean had a short enough temper as it was, being locked in a motel room with Sam _and_ Dad was asking for trouble. Especially with the new development in their relationship, but they hadn’t, had that problem just yet. They’d deal with it eventually, but for now things were good.

 

Things were _great_. And Sam wanted to keep it that way.

 

Taking a deep breath he tugged his shirt back over his head and made a decision more painful than any bruise or ache in his body. He wasn’t going to tell Dean. He couldn’t tell Dean. This was something he was going to have to deal with on his own.

 

If he was lucky Dad’s illogical logic would be enough to satisfy his suspicions and he’d leave Sam alone. For a while at least. As long as Dean didn’t know, they’d be okay. Of course that meant the next few days were going to be pure torture.

 

He wasn’t going to be able to change in front of Dean and when things got hot and heavy between them, he was going to have to pull back. Or at least keep his shirt on somehow. He was sure that if he told Dean what had happened he’d end things between them.

 

Try to, at least.

 

Maybe finally have a confrontation with Dad. Which was what Sam had wanted at first, Dean to take a stand and protect him. But now he just wanted things to stop. He didn’t want Dean involved in this, didn’t want him feeling guilty. He had Dean, that was what he wanted now. More than anything else.

 

It was wrong to lie to his brother, and he knew it. But this was for Dean, for both of them. If it happened again he’d tell Dean, or at least stop hiding it from him. But right now, he wasn’t doing anything but protecting his brother and what they had.

 

xXx

 

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist, sneaking up on him as he came out of the bathroom. He felt Sam tense at first, then relax as he realized who it was, a smile lighting up his face.

 

“Hey,” he said, pressing a kiss to Sam’s neck.

 

Sam’s breath hitched and he barely managed a “hey,” back.

 

Dean grinned at that. It had only been a few weeks, but things were great between them. Better than they’d been in a long time. Sam was happy and that made Dean happy.

 

He didn’t complain, or mutter things about leaving for college under his breath anymore, and instead of snapping at Dean when he walked through the door, he usually greeted him with a kiss.

 

And a kiss from Sam was much preferred to his bitching.

 

He was still a little hesitant about their relationship, but he knew he couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to. The only way that would ever happen was if Sam wanted things to stop. Dean wasn’t strong enough to do it otherwise.

 

That of course didn’t mean he let things go too far with Sam. Which frustrated his younger brother, but it had to be done. He was still his older brother and it was still his job to protect Sam. Their change in relationship, no matter which way it went, would never change that.

 

Telling Sam the truth had turned out to be the best decision he’d ever made. He just wished he’d done it sooner, before Dad had found out and started taking it out on Sam. Something he still had to make up for.

 

“Where were you?” Sam asked, reluctantly pulling away from him.

 

“Hustling,” he said. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair. “I got bored, you were at school…”

 

“Where you were supposed to be,” Sam reminded him.

 

“School is where _you’re_ supposed to be, Sammy. I belong in a bar.”

 

“Of course,” Sam said sarcastically, his tone almost bitter. “All those girls throwing themselves at you, it has to be better than history class.”

 

Dean fought down his grin and nodded, pretending to be oblivious to Sam’s jealously. It was fun to tease Sam about things like that, if not dangerous. His little brother had a not so little temper. And jealousy was a hot button with Sam.

 

It was a hot button with Dean too, but Sam had yet to figure that out. So until he did, Dean was going to have a little fun at Sam’s expense.

 

Besides, making it up to him was always fun.

 

When Sam let him. He had to be careful about how much fun he had with Sam.

 

“You should try it sometime. You’d never see history class the same way.”

 

Sam’s jaw tightened and he gave a shrug of his shoulders, before turning away from Dean.

 

Uh, oh. Sam was in one of his moods today. How the hell had he missed that? Now he was going to spend all night trying to please a temperamental teenager, without letting Dad know anything was wrong.

 

After the little talk they’d had the other day, Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled with Dean. Even less than when he’d caught Dean in the first place.

 

Then again, he’d threatened Dad. It was expected that he’d be angry. Angry or not though, he hadn’t laid a finger on Sam and that was exactly how he planned to keep it.

 

“What’s with you?"

 

When Sam didn’t answer he moved up behind him, and slid his arms back around his waist. It still shook him, how right Sam felt in his arms. The way he fit perfectly against Dean’s body.

 

He rested his chin in the crook of Sam’s neck and slid his hand underneath his shirt, the first touch of warm skin sending shivers down his spine. If Sam didn’t break soon, he might. There was only so much he could stand.

 

xXx

 

Sam tried not to freeze up as Dean’s hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing against a bruise or cut along the way. He bit down on his lip and silently thanked God that Dean couldn’t see his face, at this angle.

 

“Nothing,” he croaked, wincing inwardly at the sound of his own voice. Yeah, that was convincing.

 

“Sam,” his brother chided.

 

“It’s nothing,” he repeated, jerking away from Dean’s touch.

 

It was nothing, he wasn’t lying about that. It was nothing good. It was nothing worth talking about it. It was just _nothing_.

 

xXx

 

Dean considered asking Sam if this was about jealousy, the refusal of touch almost enough to convince him it was, but thought better of it for once. It wasn’t just that Sam pulled away from him, when he was the one always pulling Dean back, but the way he avoided Dean’s eyes or tried to keep him from seeing his face at all, that told him there was something really bothering Sam. Something he wasn’t sharing.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong, Sammy.”

 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. You should have been at school, that’s all.”

 

“That’s not all,” Dean insisted. “I skip all the time and you never get upset like this. Just tell me what’s going on.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Sam snapped.

 

Dean shook his head. It was like with Dad all over again. Sam would avoid him, push him away. Dean was lucky if Sam let him give the comfort he so desperately needed.

 

The memory was like a punch to the gut. Making him sick over the mistakes he’d made, and the pain Sam had suffered. It made him want to pull Sam in close and rock him, until he cried or forgave him all over again.

 

“Sam, something’s-” he stopped.

 

God, he felt like such an idiot. How the hell had he not seen it before? He was so fucking egotistical and self-centered, that all he could think of was Sam’s jealously.

 

Sam hadn’t taken his clothes off in front of him for days. Changing in the bathroom, like he was upset with Dean. When all the time, he was hiding exactly what Dean had set out to protect him from. What Sam had wanted him to protect him from.

 

xXx

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean demanded quietly.

 

“Tell you what?” Sam asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. He hadn’t said or done anything, how would Dean know what had happened? He was guessing, reaching blindly.

 

Or so Sam hoped.

 

That hope was crushed when Dean glared at him, his hands at his side suddenly curled into fists.

 

“Sam,” he warned.

 

And here it was. The confrontation he’d been trying his best to avoid.

 

“What good would it do?” he finally sighed.

 

Sam knew the instant it was out of his mouth, it was the wrong thing to say. The look of pain and disgust on his brother’s face was clear, he thought that Sam meant his failure to protect him. But it wasn’t. “It’s not that, Dean. I meant that all we did is fight. You feel guilty over everything and somehow we wind up fighting about it, or the weather. We can never just be together and I hate it. For once things seemed to be okay with us and I wasn’t going to ruin it now.”

 

“You should have told me.”

 

Sam sighed. “I know that. I knew we’d fight about it eventually, I just chose later rather then sooner.”

 

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again and it did. I need to know those kinds of things Sam. Take it off.”

 

“Do we have to go over it again and again? I get that I should have told you. But I’d rather you not know if it means keeping that look off your face.”

 

xXx

 

Dean frowned. “What look?” He didn’t make any look that he was aware of.

 

“That one right there,” Sam pointed out in frustration. “You look pissed off and disgusted. Like you’re about to leave and not come back until long after I’m asleep and you’ve fucked every girl in whatever bar. Then you’ll come home smelling like smoke and cheap beer, to wake me up and tell me how guilty you feel, how sorry you are. That look.”

 

“Take it off,” Dean repeated. He waited impatiently for Sam to remove his shirt, letting it drop by his feet. It wasn’t bad, and he knew that he was probably blowing this out of proportion, but it was hard not to after everything.

 

“Does this fix things?”

 

Dean looked away, staring past Sam at the wall. “I am sorry, Sam.”

 

He knew that’s how he reacted. He ran away and did his best to forget. It was stupid and selfish.

 

He knew that, too.

 

What he didn’t know, was another way to deal with that guilt or disgust.

 

“I don’t _want_ you to be sorry. I just want things to be okay again. I don’t want to fight with you all the time, I don’t want you to keep running away from me. It just hurts more. Don’t you get that?”

 

“I don’t know what else to do. I keep messing up and you keep getting hurt. He just fucking-”

 

“You want to know what to do?” he asked, stepping forward.

 

xXx

 

Dean reached a hand out, his fingers trailing down Sam’s chest, to his stomach and back up. A shudder ran through him, the feel of skin on skin, as light as it was, enough to make him lose all thought.

 

“What?” Dean finally asked.

 

Sam shook his head, “What?” He didn’t know what they were talking about anymore. All he could think of was the feel of Dean’s hands on his skin. It’d been a while since he’d let Dean touch him too much. He was afraid of being found out.

 

That worry was useless now.

 

“What do I do?”

 

“Oh,” he said, so eloquently. What had he been about to say to him?

 

Oh, now he remembered. Dean didn’t have to do anything but try, that’s all Sam wanted. But telling him that left too many unanswered questions and that would surely lead to another fight that he didn’t want to get into. He didn’t want to fight over anything.

 

He was so tired of fighting.

 

“Stop running away. Try and stay here _without_ fighting me on everything.”

 

“What you mean start acting normal and functional? We’re long past that one, Sammy. I don’t know if that’s even possible,” he joked half heartedly.

 

“As normal as can be for two brothers fucking,” he returned. He’d almost said in a relationship, a slip of the tongue that would have sent Dean running for sure. It was hard enough for him to accept that Sam was his little brother and that it was okay to kiss him and touch him. To be in a relationship, to even hear that word, would probably kill things between them. Would kill Sam.

 

“Is that all it is?” Dean asked, quietly. “ _Fucking_?”

 

Sam studied Dean’s face intently. He’d said the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. Like he wanted Sam to say something else. The first night they’d talked about things, the _only_ night they’d talked about things Sam had admitted that he loved Dean. But he’d never said what kind of love, that really was. Or what he expected from this. Just that he wanted it.

 

“Well,” Sam said, trying to understand his brother’s reaction. “Technically we _aren’t_ fucking.”

 

And _technically_ , that was all Dean’s decision.

 

xXx

 

Dean made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and shook his head. Who had said anything about getting technical? They‘d been talking about them, the way things were between them in general. Sam wasn‘t stupid.

 

“Whatever, man. You know what I mean.”

 

Sam knew exactly what he meant.

 

xXx

 

Actually, Sam was pretty sure he didn’t know. Dean had never said anything about having a relationship, or anything about wanting to take things further.

 

In fact Dean wouldn’t even sleep with him. He’d always push Sam away before things got too serious. So what did he want out of this really?

 

Since the beginning Sam had, had to push for almost _everything_. Dean had never voiced his opinions, his feelings, his wants.

 

_Nothing_. 

 

It was too much like a chick flick moment for his brother to participate in a conversation like that. Dean scoffed at him when he tried to start one and called him a girl.

 

Which always led to a fight and then later making up, kissing, licking, touching, everything but what Sam was thinking, wondering about. So how was he supposed to know what Dean meant now?

 

Dean was hard enough to understand when they weren’t together.

 

xXx

 

Dean watched Sam, careful to keep his face expressionless. It was true he was the last person to want to have a conversation like this, but right now it just seemed right. Like he had to bring it up. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to Sam, to keep his mind off doing _anything_ really.

 

Sam had to make this call on his own. Because if all this was about was the physical, maybe Dean should find that out now before he got too far into it. If it wasn’t already too late for him. He hadn’t told Sam he loved him, not like _that_. Sure he’d told Sam, his brother, that he loved him. But not Sam his…what the hell was he? Maybe nothing, he reminded himself as he waited for Sam’s answer; his heart lodged in his throat.

 

xXx

 

“No,” Sam said simply, opting for honesty, without the embarrassing attachments. It wasn’t all about the physical for Sam. But that was how Dean communicated for the most part. So, he pushed for it. Dean wasn’t one to come right out and talk about his feelings or wants. But when Dean touched Sam, he didn’t need to hear them. All his worries and fears were gone in that moment.

 

xXx

 

Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from letting out a relieved sigh. Defining things between them was far off, but just knowing that this wasn’t about the physical was enough for now.

 

At least for Dean.

 

For Sam, it was never enough. He had to know every detail, every thought and feeling Dean had about it. And it pissed him off to no end most of the time, but it was his little brother and he had every right to want to know these things.

 

To want to protect himself.

 

This wasn’t like any other girlfriend or boyfriend either had ever had, that was assuming Sam had ever been with a guy before Dean. Another thought that him biting down hard on his cheek, jealously overtaking his irritation suddenly. Sam may just find out how much of a hot button issue jealousy was with Dean, if that train of thought kept going.

 

This wasn’t someone you could walk away from and move on. They were family, they were tied together forever. No matter how things ended. And Sam had every right to be afraid of what would happen,

 

Dean sure the hell was scared about how badly things could end between them if he said or did the wrong thing. The urge to accuse him of being with other guys and not telling Dean, saying something stupid and hurtful about just how many he’d been with. Anything to push him and make Sam tell him how he felt for him, without asking directly and risking exposing how much he needed his younger brother.

 

“I’ve never been with another guy before,” Sam said, answering Dean’s silent questions. “This isn’t about curiosity or physical anything for me. Is that what this is for you?”

 

xXx

 

It seemed stupid to ask that of Dean, when he’d been the one to bring it up. To be upset by it first.

 

But he had to ask. Because if he didn’t, he’d always wonder. Always worry, until the next time Dean touched him. The next time Dad hit him or Sam could push enough.

 

“If that’s what this was about, I would have fucked you already.”

 

Sam swallowed hard and hesitated before asking his next question. This one might put his brother over the edge, and that was not something he was looking forward to. But he had to ask it. “Then what is it about?”

 

xXx

 

Sam would ask that, Dean thought bitterly. He would keep pushing things, make Dean really think about their actions. Or more than anything, _his_ actions. Not Sam’s.

 

Sam’s he could always write off as following an older brother, hero worship or just fear of losing the only person _not_ hurting him. Anything that made him feel guilty after all. His own actions couldn’t be thought of as anything other then wrong.

 

Either way his brother expected an answer, and he kind of wanted one himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it to Sam.

 

“Not sex,” Dean said, avoiding the question as best he could while answering it.

 

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with the answer. “Covered that. So if it’s not about sex, then it’s about…what?”

 

“We’re off track here. This is about you not telling me what was happening to you.”

 

xXx

 

Sam sighed in frustration but let it drop for now. “Great, so you’re pissed at me. You think I should have told you. I know I should have told you, but I didn’t. End of fight. I’ll be here when you get back,” he said throwing himself back on the bed.

 

“No, that’s not the end of it Sam. How long has this been going on?”

 

“Does it matter? Things are going to end the same anyway.”

 

“Yes, it matters! I want to know how long you’ve been lying to me.”

 

“So you know how long to punish me for then?” Sam nodded. “Okay, a few weeks. Not that long really. It only happened two or three times. At least I think, I kind of lost track after a while. Got bored with it.” he lied. It had only happened twice, but Dean’s tone made him want to push.

 

xXx

 

Dean hauled Sam up by his shoulders, more angry then he’d been in the past three weeks. This wasn’t a game or a joke. This was serious, this was about Sam and his safety. About his fucking _lying_ to Dean. He was over Sam’s attitude towards this. He should have been angry or hurt, not completely indifferent.

 

“This isn’t funny, Sam,” he growled. “I want to know how long you’ve been lying to me.”

 

“Why so you can-”

 

“Stop,” he ordered. “Try answering me instead of starting a fight. You’re the one that said you’re sick of fighting anyway.”

 

“And you aren’t?”

 

“No,” Dean said sarcastically. “I’ve missed yelling at you, missed hurting you really. I could use a good hangover.”

 

“No one told you to drink.”

 

Yeah, well, no one had told him to go and fall in love with his younger brother but he had. He did a lot of things no one told him to do. He was a freak like that.

 

“I don’t know what else to do.”

 

“Stay with me. I don’t know how many other ways to say it. It hurts when you leave, _not_ when you stay.”

 

Dean hung his head. He knew he should have stayed, but he’d been selfish. He’d wanted to distance himself from the pain he saw in Sam’s eyes, never thinking it would hurt him more in the end.

 

He loosened his grip on Sam’s shoulders and pulled him against him, instead. “How long, Sam?” He was afraid to hear Sam’s answer, but he had to know.

 

“Just this time and once before,” Sam finally admitted.

 

“Sammy,” Dean sighed. “You can’t keep something like this from me.”

 

“I know. How long are you going to be ignoring me?” Sam asked, pulling back from his brother.

 

Dean sighed in frustration. So, this was what it had come to. Sam didn’t even trust him to stick around anymore. His heart breaking all over again, he dipped his head down to nuzzle at Sam’s throat. “Baby,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

 

xXx

 

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. _Baby_? Dean had never called him that before, no matter how heavy things had gotten. The closest he’d ever come to endearments was Sammy. It had always been Sammy. The one thing he could bring himself to say, that held so much more meaning.

 

Baby, meant they were on a whole new level. It meant that things were going to be different. Dean wasn’t going to run anymore, not from him anyway.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam muttered lamely, his arms winding around Dean’s neck.

 

xXx

 

“Don’t be,” Dean said. He pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple and held him tighter.

 

Sam didn’t have anything to apologize for. He’d tried to protect Dean, to make things better for him. For both of them. Right or wrong, Sam did the same thing Dean would have done if the situation had been reversed.

 

Sam was apologizing for loving Dean, and that wasn’t right. If they never apologized for anything again, it would be for that.


End file.
